Meantime in the office of Senator Smith, toward which Mr. Easterly was
making his way, several members of the National Republican campaign
committee had been closeted the day before.
"Now, about the niggers," the chairman had asked; "how much more boodle
do they want?"
"That's what's bothering us," announced a member; "it isn't the boodle
crowd that's hollering, but a new set, and I don't understand them; I
don't know what they represent, nor just how influential they are."
"What can I do to help you?" asked Senator Smith.
"This. You are here at Washington with these Negro office-holders at
your back. Find out for us just what this revolt is, how far it goes,
and what good men we can get to swing the darkies into line--see?"
"Very good," the Senator acquiesced. He called in a spectacled man with
bushy eyebrows and a sleepy look.
"I want you to work the Negro political situation," directed the
Senator, "and bring me all the data you can get. Personally, I'm at sea.
I don't understand the Negro of today at all; he puzzles me; he doesn't
fit any of my categories, and I suspect that I don't fit his. See what
you can find out."
The man went out, and the Senator turned to his desk, then paused and
smiled. One day, not long since, he had met a colored person who
personified his perplexity concerning Negroes; she was a lady, yet she
was black--that is, brown; she was educated, even cultured, yet she
taught Negroes; she was quiet, astute, quick and diplomatic--everything,
in fact, that "Negroes" were not supposed to be; and yet she was a
"Negro.
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